The rain trees on the road beautified by an Indian King and christened by a British Resident became a metaphor for me. Those vast canopies are made possible only because they kept reaching outward. Not inward, digging up the tombs of the past, but stretching out and welcoming myriad birds, providing shade to strangers, sheltering conversations, and weaving sunlight into lace. They accepted the rains, winds, salt, and dust – and still grew.